


Just Call Her a Handbasket

by Zephrbabe



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Come Eating, Couch Sex, Creampie, De-Serumed Steve Rogers, Established Relationship, F/M, Oral Sex, Residual Catholicism, Skinny!Steve, Woman on Top, size queen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-14 22:00:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20608013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zephrbabe/pseuds/Zephrbabe
Summary: cuz Darcy Lewis is going to hellOr, Darcy feels like she's taking advantage of a de-serumed Steve, and Steve likes it.(Previously posted in "Well, Fuck Me")





	Just Call Her a Handbasket

**Author's Note:**

> For the Fuck Yeah Darcy Lewis 2018 Smut Week, day 2: sinful. Darcy/deserumed!Steve, feat. Steve's huge dick.

“I’m going to hell for this,” she murmurs, unable to keep the grin off her face. “Defiling Captain America before he even got the serum? America’s precious cinnamon roll?” She rolls her hips on his lap, shivering at the pressure to her clit. “Yeah. Definitely going to hell.”

Steve rolls his eyes and huffs below her on the couch. He’s got asthma again, so he’s saving his breath.

His pipe-cleaner arms flex under her thighs, shifting her enough that she gets the message and lifts her hips. A long-fingered hand disappears under her skirt, the lust-dark blue of his eyes fixed on her face. Steve breaches her with two fingers, just how she likes. She’s so sloppy wet already he hardly has to scissor his fingers at all before adding a third. The stretch is _so good_, but she wants his dick, like, now.

She kneels up and away, Steve’s fingers slipping up over her clit as she shifts. He lifts his hips so she can pull down the sweatpants he had to borrow from _Natasha_.

Darcy looks down and barks, “Holy shit!” A quick glance up at Steve shows an unrepentant smirk playing with the corners of his mouth. His Bambi lashes flutter as he wriggles his hips under her hands. “Where the hell did this come from?!”

The smirk is full-blown now, and Darcy can’t believe she ever thought she could corrupt Steve Rogers.

“Same as it always is, Darce.”

“Nuh uh.” She can’t believe he was packing a dick this size and didn’t get any action in the 30s. What, did Brooklyn not have any size queens back then?

He’s just so… proportional when he’s big. He’s big all over, usually. She can’t believe Howard Stark’s easy-beefcake oven hadn’t affected _this_.

But Darcy does believe in experiential proof, so she pulls her skirt back, sits up, and sits down on Steve’s monster dick.

“Fuuuuuck,” she groans. Yeah, that- that is the stretch she knows so well. She bounces a little to wedge his cock deeper inside her. She never gets him inside all in one go, more’s the pity.

“Jesus Christ, Darcy!” Steve jerks under her, the unintentional thrust of his hips jouncing her further onto his cock. His breath is heavy, and he’s pink all the way down under the collar of his t-shirt. “Take it easy, doll, this ain’t a race.”

She leans her hands back on the cushion between Steve’s knees and feels so full she could squirt. (Then again, she would rather not have this be the third couch they’ve destroyed in six months. And she would _really _rather not have to explain how they managed that feat when Steve doesn’t even have super strength right now.) She shifts forward, gripping the cushion on either side of Steve’s head for leverage instead of pressing on his chest. She doesn’t want to risk his breathing when she can see every narrow rib.

He tips his chin up for a kiss and she obliges, marveling at how she has to curl down to meet him in this position. She’s so used to having Steve bending down for her kisses. Darcy plunders his mouth until she feels his cock twitch.

Steve’s thumb finds her clit as she starts to ride him, rocking her hips to fit his dick inside her completely. Darcy can’t help the groan that climbs its way out of her.

He doesn’t speed his touch, either, as Darcy picks up the pace. Each downstroke of her hips presses his finger between her clit and his belly, but that’s as much extra as she gets. She knows if she tries to hurry him, he’ll just dig in his heels.

But she’s so close, and he’s got that _goddamn_ smirk on his _goddamn_ gorgeous face.

“Goddammit, Steve, faster.”

“You got it, doll.” And on her next downstroke, he digs in his heels and bucks up into her.

The clap of their skin is drowned out by Darcy’s shriek. Her inner muscles squeeze down, and Steve groans. He _finally_ flickers his thumb over her clit, and Darcy bows over, t-shirt-covered breasts nearly smothering him as she comes. Her thighs shake with it, and jesus christ she is literally seeing stars.

Steve’s free hand pulls her hips closer, and she can feel the throb of his cock in tandem with the rhythmic grip of her pussy.

Under her, he’s panting- they’re both panting- and Darcy stops herself from collapsing on top of him like she usually would. There’s a slight wheeze to his breaths that has her eyeing the emergency inhaler on the coffee table.

Darcy lifts up and feels their combined release start to slip out of her.

“Jesus,” Steve breathes, and Darcy watches him lick his mouth like a kid in a vintage ad for American Apple Pie. Some kind of pie, anyway.

His hands press on the backs of her thighs, and Darcy gets the message and knee-walks up the sofa, lips curled into her mouth to stem the flow of concerned-for-your-health bullshit she knows Steve hates. He’ll let her know if he needs a break, but she’s pretty sure even in the kind of shape he’s in, he can do this all day.

Darcy looks down at Steve between her thighs: the lips red and glossy from her kisses, the pink cheeks, the ridiculous lashes, the determined brow, the tousled hair. And yeah- as she goes to sit on his face- yeah,

She is totally going to hell for this.


End file.
